


Even Falcons Fall

by bitogoth



Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-07
Updated: 2015-01-07
Packaged: 2018-03-01 20:09:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,470
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2786081
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bitogoth/pseuds/bitogoth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam believes in the work he does with vets. It was a counselor who helped him when he lost Riley and helped him transition back to civilian life, and he saw his job at the VA as paying that forward. However, since joining the Avengers his off-duty skills were getting more use than his wings, and there was <i>always</i> something going on. Sam was tired and needed to talk, but Steve was wrapped up in Bucky, Natasha was on a mission, and he didn't really know the others well yet. He needed a night out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Even Falcons Fall

Sam was well on his way to being very drunk.

It had been a rough day. He was still getting acclimatized to his new VA and it always took time to build trust as a counselor. He loved New York, but the city overwhelmed him sometimes and he wasn't sure he'd ever get the hang of the subways. It was cold, and Sam wasn't a big fan of that, either. Sure it got cold in D.C., but New York got  _colder_ and stayed that way longer; he wasn't looking forward to real winter.

Living at the Tower was an adjustment as well. Stark had set him up with some sweet digs and Sam was right down the hall from Steve. He liked hanging out watching movies, shooting the shit over a pickup game of basketball with Clint, and helping cook meals for whoever was on hand. But the fact of the matter was they were all dealing with serious issues, and lately Sam felt like he never had any downtime. There had been the weird  _thing_ that oozed up from under the subway system into Times Square. And then Bucky had a bad moment- something about the sewer grate. By the time they got back to the Tower Sam was completely wrung out and then Tony and Pepper had a fight and he somehow ended up mediating...

Sam was just tired.

He loved his team, he really did, but somehow he had become the den mother. Steve was the leader and Bruce the counselor, but Sam ended up soothing ruffled feathers and talking down panic attacks. Natasha was doing well, (the more he learned about her history the more amazed Sam was  _how_ well), but she was out on a solo mission. Sam and Bruce were friendly, but he wasn't someone Sam knew very well for this kind of heart-to-heart, and Tony had labeled Sam as "another Air Force guy with nice toys". Sam appreciated Tony's hospitality and the upgrades to his wings were amazing, but that was pretty much all they ever talked about. Steve was split between Bucky and dealing with SHIELD crap and would have made time if Sam asked, but he hadn't had a chance. He'd only met Thor a few times (although he really liked the friendly Asgardian- it was hard  _not_  to like Thor), but again, he was off someplace _else_. Thor would probably understand Sam's feelings of being out of place, but conversations with Thor tended to require a certain amount of translation, like reading Shakespeare in high school.

So Sam decided to get out for a bit, talk to someone who wasn't busy saving the world, and maybe have a few drinks.

The bar was a few blocks from the Tower with shiny floors and a hardwood bar that tried to look old and well-worn. The lights weren't too bright, however, there were a couple lagers on tap, and the bartender was easy on the eyes, so Sam decided to make himself comfortable.

As the afternoon slipped into evening, though, Sam felt himself spiraling down as well. The after-work crowd slowly transitioned to the nighttime partiers; folks getting a few drinks before going clubbing or out to dinner. Usually Sam had no trouble striking up a conversation, but the longer he sat and watched the more out-of-touch he felt. He eavesdropped on relationship problems and work gripes and awkward flirting among strangers and one beer had turned into three had turned into more. He'd paced himself and snacked on bar food, but the fact of the matter was Sam had worked himself into a perfect funk and he knew it. 

Sam finally gave up any pretense of trying to socialize and moved to the first open booth that presented itself. He slumped over his beer and basket of peanuts, trying to unravel how his life had come to this. Sam had his own issues, the main one being that everything changed the moment that Riley fell while he watched, helpless to do anything.

That isn't to say that he didn't try. Sam didn't share that part of the story. How he dove for Riley, trying to dodge incoming shellfire. How he was clipped and spun out of control, and by the time he straightened out it was too late. How Riley had looked, twisted and splayed, like a fossil skeleton of an Archaeopteryx he saw in a museum once.

How he screamed Riley's name and cried, tears fogging his goggles.

Yeah, he didn't tell that part of the story much.

The bar was now packed, every stool taken. A trio of clubbers came in and stood around in ridiculous shoes, giving Sam pointed looks as they tried to intimidate him into giving up his booth. He gave lazy smile and toasted them with his beer, after which they shuffled off in a huff. It had been kind of a mean thing to do, and he immediately regretted it, but not enough to get up. He caught the bartender's eye and waved a bottle and when the waitress stopped by to top him off, she also slid a platter of nachos on his table.

"Uh, I didn't order this?"

"It's on the house, Casey says you're having a bad night," she shouted over the din with a nod toward the bar. Sam saw the bartender watching and gave a salute of thanks, then applied himself to the nachos which were surprisingly good.

About twenty minutes later he watched the bartender lean over and hug a woman with purple hair, earning glares from the same clubbers from earlier who had finally crowded their way onto two barstools. They talked for a moment, and Sam was surprised to see the bartender ( _Casey- he'd have to try an remember that_ ) nod towards his corner and the purple-haired woman turned and smiled.

Sam was even more confused when she walked over with a bottle. "Hey, it's crowded tonight! Casey said you might not mind sharing a booth?" Sam blinked a few times, not sure what to think.

"Uh, is this a setup? Because I know Casey there thinks I'm looking a bit rough and need looking out for, but I'm really not looking for, uh, anything..."

She laughed and sat, apparently taking his response as permission. "Nope! Nothing personal, but you're not my type," she grinned, "but I just got off an eighteen hour shift and I just want to sit and unwind a little before I crash for twelve hours."

Sam blinked a little owlishly and looked closer. Under her black leather jacket was a baggy grey sweater and black jeans so tight they might have been leggings. Black combat boots rounded out the ensemble. But there was something about how her hair was knotted in a messy bun, the tired droop of her shoulders, the look of utter relief when she sat down and took the weight off her feet, something about the way she _smelled_ that seemed familiar...

"Nurse?"

She grinned and toasted him with her bottle, "Got it in one! I'm impressed, most don't figure it out unless I'm wearing scrubs. I'm Jackie," she offered a hand and they shook.

"Sam."

"So what do you do, Sam?" She leaned back, mimicking his slump and gave a sigh of pure bliss. The barmaid swung by and dropped a second basket of peanuts off and gave Jackie a grin; she was clearly a regular.

He chuckled dryly, "You wouldn't believe me if I told you."

Jackie cocked an eyebrow in curiosity, "Now I'm intrigued, but I can understand if you don't want to say." It was a lure and he knew it. Sam had a feeling that he could sit there in stony silence and she would be just as relaxed and friendly, though, and he had to nudge himself to remember that this was what he'd come out for in the first place.

"I was pararescue. I'm out of service now, workin' at the VA." Sam winced a little at the wording, he did feel a bit 'out of service' at the moment, but Jackie sat up and gaped.

"Really? No shit? Then the next round's on me!" She waved two fingers at Casey who gave a nod and grin.

"Well, thanks, but... why?"

"My uncle was a PJ in 'Nam. I really looked up to him growing up; thought about Air Force myself so I could earn one of those berets. I ended up taking a different route, but I loved his stories- I always thought he was so brave." Her eyes glazed, the smile slipping from her face a moment, but she turned back to Sam and renewed the smile. "Vets don't get nearly the credit they should, I'm happy to buy you one."

Sam couldn't let it go, "Not a happy ending?"

Jackie shrugged a shoulder. "You work at the VA, you know- it's hard coming back. Some guys don't really come back at all. 'Nam vets had it hard. I loved my uncle, but he had problems. He couldn't keep a job. In and out of shelters, in and out of rehab. We set up a room in our basement and he'd come stay with us for a few days or weeks or months. It didn't change anything, I still loved him. Eventually it got to be too much; in '88 he killed himself." She stared at her bottle, slowly tearing off the label in strips, then looked back at Sam and gave him a sad smile. "I forgave him and I still miss him. So here's to the vets." They clinked bottles together and both drank in silence.

Sam could kick himself. Here he was, wallowing in his own self-pity when he had an amazing team who were only human (well, some of them maybe a little more than human, and one who wasn't  _really_ human...), but they needed him. He got into this to help others, first as a PJ, then as a counselor, and now as a... superhero? He was doing what he wanted to do, and was griping about it as bad as anyone else in the bar.

"It's okay you know," Jackie nudge him gently with her shoulder, "we all have it rough sometimes."

Sam started a little in surprise, "You a mind-reader?"

Jackie laughed loudly, earning another disdainful look from the clubbers who were finally on their way out. "That was an easy one. You forget, I specialize in dealing with people with problems. Even if it's only a broken arm the person it's attached to has a whole mess of issues."

"Well, that's true enough," Sam replied with a wry grin.

"So what's got you so down?"

Sam sighed, rubbed a hand over his face and glanced around the bar, but there was no rescue there. "So here's how it is..." He sat forward so she could hear better, trying to decide what to say.

"I have these... roommates. And we all work together. One is the greatest guy in the world, we're bros, y'know? Recently, his best friend moved in, he's getting back on his feet, has a lot of issues, but that's cool, that's what I do, right?"

"They with the VA, too?" Jackie took another sip as she listened.

"Well, sort of, we're all vets. But I do my thing at the VA, and come home, and then do it again. And again. Over and over. And I love doin' it, and these are my friends. But, I'm just tired, y'know? Sometimes I sit in my room and don't want to come out, just to have a little time to myself."

"So, who counsels the counselor, huh? You never a get a break, and it sounds like they don't have a lot of time for just, non-urgent stuff?"

"Yeah, yeah that's pretty much it."

"You talked to them about it?"

"It's hard to make time, and they have so much going on, they don't need my problems..." but Jackie was already interrupting.

"Whoa whoa whoa! Time to flip the switch- what would you say to one of your vets if you were hearing this, right now?"

It was Sam's turn to study his beer label for a few minutes, he felt sharper than he had in hours; the buzz was long gone. "What you feel is valid. You have to make time to speak up for yourself, because you deserve it. They can't help if they don't know something is wrong..." Sam gave her a lopsided grin, "You're pretty good at this y'know, you want a job?"

Jackie laughed and rolled her empty bottle between her hands, "Thanks, but I think the one I have is more than enough." She gave him a serious look, "They're your _friends_ , Sam- that's a two-way street; they help you and you help them. Don't be too hard on yourself- you have to take care of your own needs, too. I spend all day with people way worse off than I am. I'm in trauma, no one wants to be there. But if I don't take care of myself when I need it, if I don't ask for help, then I'm doing them a disservice by not being at my best. Police, firefighters, social workers, we have the hardest job balancing our lives with what we do, because generally we _believe_ in our jobs- it's important to us, and other people rely on us. I think you're in the same boat. It's hard, but I bet it's rewarding, too, right?"

Sam smiled, still lopsided, but a little broader and warmer than before. "Yeah, you're right about that. Hey," he gave her a serious look, "thanks, Jackie."

Sam started in surprise as she leaned over and gave him a warm hug. "You're welcome, Sam. If my uncle'd had someone like you at the VA, maybe things could have been a little different. All we can do is try our best. And with that, I'm outie- I've got a date with a bed."

He laughed and stood up to see her off. "Hey, I gotta ask, are you and Casey...?"

She glanced at the bar and suddenly laughed, giving Sam a knowing look. "Nah, I'm not Casey's type. Did you get any free food?"

"Uh, yeah, nachos. How'd you know?"

She grinned and winked, "You might be Casey's type, give it a try slugger. And good luck with everything!" Jackie waved as she slipped out the door.

Sam looked around, the bar had settled down and there was a space at the bar. He pulled up a stool and took out his wallet to settle his tab. Casey wandered over, polishing a glass. "Doing better?"

"Yeah, yeah I am, thanks for that. And for the nachos and, well, everything." He grinned. "So, I was wondering..."

**Author's Note:**

> I kept Riley and Casey gender-neutral on purpose. I have my own headcanons, but won't impose them here. ;}


End file.
